


we’re never gonna win the world

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016-2017 NHL Season, Growing Up, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Instability, brady's a nerd are we surprised, i feel like that is a good tag, in this house jimmy vesey is still a new york ranger, inside the mind of jimmy vesey, kind of, young dumb rookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: Jimmy doesn’t want to die.(or, jimmy vesey signs with the new york rangers and his life changes more than it ever has).





	we’re never gonna win the world

**Author's Note:**

> i started this after all of my finals so i wrote it in like, 4 days. so it's shit, no need to remind me. 
> 
> but i'm really excited to be apart of this challenge!!!! hopefully ppl will discover brady and jimmy and write them even more - even if they're not teammates anymore. i'm mad about it. 
> 
> special thanks goes to perrine for encouraging me and rooting for me to finish this!!! i don't think i'd be posting this without u, so thank u loads!!! i love u sm!!!

Jimmy remembers the first time he skated. 

He was about three or four years old, on the small pond no more than ten minutes away from his house. He remembers his dad kneeling in front of him, tying up the little black skates with razor sharp blades. He did not want to touch that. It looked too sharp. 

He remembers his dad grabbing his hand and taking him toward the pond. He remembers the Bruins stocking cap pulled too far over his ears, hugging them so they wouldn’t get too cold. He remembers the heavy blue jackets and the bright yellow gloves and his nose borne pink from the harsh air of Boston in late December. 

His dad had held his hands, skating backwards so Jimmy could balance himself forward. It is a foreign feeling at first - this thin, sharp blade on your shoes bringing you forward with speed. It is different than walking and running. Jimmy decides it was better. 

He remembers telling his dad that he could do it, that he could skate alone. His father had reluctantly pulled away, undoubtedly concerned his Jimmy trying to skate along with how small and frail he was at the time. Jimmy remembers chopping at the ice, stomping more than skating, falling more than moving, being on the ground more than his own two feet. But he ultimately remembers the feeling of when he really got his feet under him - when he moved, skated, breathed in the bitter air in pants of breath.

He did not know what hockey would do for him then. He had no clue.

  
  
  


He remembers his mite hockey games like they were yesterday - waking up for 5 a.m. games before the sun was out, trying not to fall asleep in the mudroom when he would look for his sneakers. He would complain a lot to his dad, mostly that he was tired. And every time Jimmy would say he was tired, his dad had the same response: “C’mon, Jimmy, someday this is all gonna be worth it.” Then on the way home, he and his dad would pretend to announce Jimmy’s name as the first overall pick in my draft year. 

_And with the first pick in the 2011 NHL Entry Draft… the Boston Bruins are proud to select…from North Reading, Massachusetts … Jimmy Vesey._

Jimmy never over thought anything back then. Hockey was hockey and that was all. 

  
  
  


But with hockey, there were lots of things that Jimmy had to worry about.

  
Scoring, lines, positions, teammates, whatever. In Jimmy’s mind, really, it wasn't worrying. It merely occupied his mind - he was always thinking about hockey. Not in a bad way at all, honestly. It was nice, for Jimmy - having something apart of his life, so involved and immersed, so much to the point where he didn’t have time to think about anything else.

In school, when teachers asked what their students wanted to be when they got older, Jimmy used to be too embarrassed to say an NHL player. He always assumed they would laugh at the thought. The percentages are extremely small. He used to make up some phony job - an astronaut, a doctor, maybe - but the truth is, Jimmy never even considered pursuing anything else as a career; ever since he was a kid he knew that hockey was what he wanted to do. 

  
  
  


Jimmy was never a loud, outspoken kid like the rest of his teammates. He also didn’t have that many friends. 

Not in, like - a bad way. He had his handful of friends in which some played hockey with him and some played other sports. He was just never the kid to raise his voice, initiate conversation, speak to people he had not spoken to before. It was part of Jimmy’s personality.

He always felt this twang in his gut when someone would make fun of him or anyone else. He never liked hearing someone call another kid ‘stupid’ or ‘a loser’ or ‘weird’. It’s not like he was some child sent from god, by any means. It’s just - Jimmy never felt like the other guys on his team. He just felt different, like he didn’t really fit in with the rest of them. It didn’t matter, not on the ice, at least. Because Jimmy really could play hockey. He was on the top line, as if that really mattered, in peewee. It meant a lot to him - because hockey was Jimmy’s first priority, always.

The locker room was never a _fun_ place to be, for Jimmy - though not many kids say they have fun in the locker room, but his teammates would. They slowly put their equipment on, tying skates and pulling up socks as they reiterated something relatively funny from school earlier that day. Jimmy would listen, only tune out the stuff he didn’t want to hear.

Clearly, he had no interest in hearing his own name, because one of his teammates has to shout it out multiple times before Jimmy decides to listen.

His teammate is way too excited to tell him that some girl from another class has a crush on him. Jimmy freezes on the inside yet continues to pull up his blue socks with a shrug. 

“Dude, you have to talk to her!” his teammate yells at him and Jimmy tries not to wince. He should be happy about this, he knows, yet it doesn’t seem to faze him and that’s what Jimmy finds scary. Of course, he’s barely twelve, but he - Jimmy has never acted like your average twelve-year-old. 

His teammate is expecting a response. Jimmy doesn’t believe he’s qualified to make the response that his teammate wants. 

“I will,” Jimmy tells him, which earns him a nudge of support from the teammate to the right of him. It’s a lie, but Jimmy doesn’t like lying. He decides he’s pretending - it’s not as bad as lying, Jimmy thinks.

  
  


Jimmy never knew how good he would become at pretending.  
  
  


Hockey surges full force when Jimmy’s in high school, which is when he thinks that he could really do something with the sport. It becomes almost everything Jimmy knows, everything he is. You see, Jimmy’s got no idea what his future looks like, but he knows hockey _has_ to be in it. His life would be pointless without hockey, from his perspective. 

There’s something about it, and Jimmy’s not completely sure what it is. Maybe it’s the speed - the feeling of skating, feeling invincible. Or maybe it’s the physical aspect - the idea of being able to get all of his anger, struggles, pure emotions out by pinning someone to the boards or battling someone for that little piece of rubber. 

Jimmy gets returns to the bench after a long shift when he makes the varsity team. He watches a taller player from his rival team - he wears number 27, and he’s got his hair creeping up from behind his helmet. Jimmy watches as he skates over to their bench, watches as he sits down and takes off his helmet. He watches when he pours water over his head and moves his hair out of his face. 

Jimmy looks away. 

  
  
  


There’s a couple of nice guys on the varsity team, but the only one Jimmy is interested in hanging out with Kevin. Kevin Hayes. He’s a year older than Jimmy, so he learns to drive a year sooner and it’s not long until he’s giving Jimmy lifts to and from the rink. 

Kevin’s a handful. In a sort-of good way.

For starters, he lightens the mood. Or, he tries to. It’s not always Jimmy’s ideal way of lightening the mood, but it’s not like Kevin cares anyway. 

“So, Veser,” Kevin starts one day after a brutal practice. Jimmy’s rubbing his eyes, wishing he was just in his bed and not worrying about his chem homework assignment that awaits him when he gets home. Or about what Kevin’s up to. 

“Gotten any girls recently?” the question flies in through Jimmy’s left ear and out his right, practically. Jimmy scoffs, hopes that it’s enough to get Kevin off his back. Jimmy can still feel eyes on him moments after, and he can feel his skin start to crawl. He’s praying that he doesn’t look as hopeless as he feels. 

Jimmy pretends not to skip a beat. “What’s it to you?” he jokes, and it comes out a little forced. Kevin’s face changes for a split second, too fast for Jimmy to see it. Kevin taps his fingers on the steering wheel and Jimmy picks on the fabric attached to the seat belt buckle. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Kevin laughs which prompts an eye roll from Jimmy. He rolls down the window and traces his fingers along the side, letting the wind blow into his eyes so harshly that they brim with tears.

  
  
  


Jimmy commits to Harvard on a Thursday. He’s not sure how to feel. 

He’s excited, for sure. He’s going to play college hockey, he’s one step closer to playing in the NHL. And it’s Harvard - all of his teammates will chirp him for going to _Harvard,_ but Jimmy’s not worrying about any of that. 

He gets drafted on a Sunday, 66th overall by the Nashville Predators in the third round. It’s not exactly as his younger self had imagined it, but it’s still pretty fucking surreal. He’s taking pictures in the new yellow jersey, doing all kinds of media, and soaking in the moment like he as all the time in the world. 

When he gets back to his hotel room when all is said and done, he googles his draft class to examine all of the NCAA commits. There are all kinds of names - Trouba, Schmaltz, Skjei, McCabe - most of which don’t ring a bell in Jimmy’s mind.

When he gets in bed that night, he thinks about Harvard, Nashville, and some kid wearing a Rangers jersey that he saw twice at the draft. 

  
  
  


Jimmy walks into freshman year in Cambridge, young, naive and thirsty for scoring goals. 

He’s focussed on hockey, despite the fact that he’s technically at the hardest school to get in to. It should all be worth it, Jimmy thinks - all of the nights and mornings at the rink in high school, his dad telling him that he’s not good enough at hockey and needs to excel at school, and everything in between.

He goes out to lunch with some junior on the team, John Caldwell. They talk about the NHL some - John wasn’t drafted, but Jimmy obviously was, so this junior is quick to ask Jimmy, the freshman, thousands of questions. Jimmy explains that no, he’s never been to Nashville, no, he’s not friends with Nail Yakupov just because they were in the same draft class, and no, he’s not upset that the Bruins didn’t draft him. Well - not really. 

John is also quick to set him up with some blonde that’s studying astrophysics. He says they’d be good together and so on and so forth. Jimmy, being the idiotic 18-year-old that he was, complies. The two go out a week into Jimmy’s freshman year, and Jimmy’s too busy looking at the waiter to notice the girl walk out.

  
  
  


One night later into his freshman year, after some post-game party at Everson’s dorm, Jimmy stumbles into a bar. He’s not drunk yet, but he’s getting there, but he’s alone, so there’s no way that a drink is going to be sold to him right now. He sits down in a booth near the back of the place, and it’s darker - maybe it’s what he needs. Jimmy’s not sure what he needs. 

Jimmy’s pretty sure he’s never been sure of what he needs. It seems like one minute he’s on the ice, ignoring every fucking guy on the Yale bench because they all seem so fucking intriguing, and the next he’s sitting in his dorm room returning a text from a girl who was, like, nice.

Jimmy presses his hands to his temples because all of this thinking just exhausts him, and he’s well aware that getting back to his room will be much more than a little struggle. His eyes are closed for a couple of minutes until he hears someone in front of him. He opens them to see this guy holding two beers - his hair is blonde, his hat backwards and v-neck just a little lower than Jimmy’s used to. Jimmy finds a solemn look in his eyes, and he hates himself for noticing. 

“You looked like you needed this,” he says, sliding the beer toward Jimmy, and Jimmy’s too flustered to say anything. Like, how fucking pathetic does Jimmy need to be? He already knows that he’s in too deep, overwhelmed with anything and everything, and now people pity him. 

Despite this, Jimmy grabs the beer, and he feels the guy’s eyes glued on him as he drinks, but Jimmy doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even try. 

  
  
  
  


Freshman year turns to sophomore year, which turns to junior year, and Jimmy just wonders where the time goes.

They finally beat Yale, but they lose in the NCAA final, and a few days after that, he announces that he’s going back for his senior season. The Predators staff is confused, and their wondering if Jimmy’s just doing it to make more money in free agency. Of course, that’s not Jimmy’s motive. He didn’t choose another year of paying for college, sleepless nights of studying, early mornings ridden with high-intensity workouts just to get signed for more money. The truth is, Harvard really grew on Jimmy. 

When he played for this team, he could forget. He didn’t constantly think about his personal life - it’s just the team. He would do anything for the team, anything for the guys. The thing was, his mom would call and ask him how he’s doing at Harvard, and Jimmy was so distracted by hockey that he wouldn’t even hesitate when he said that everything was ‘all good’.

Jimmy wouldn’t call playing for Harvard a distraction, because the school deserves better than that. Playing for Harvard merely engrossed Jimmy to the point where his own problems meant nothing. 

  
  
  


Jimmy wins the Hobey Baker, and then he’s graduating, and then he’s meeting with teams and teams are offering him contracts.

It’s a hectic summer, that’s for sure. He can’t really enjoy his family vacation because his agent won’t stop harassing his about the Sabres - Jimmy does not want to play for the Buffalo Sabres. So he tells him that. 

Jimmy gets a call from his agent when he drives up to Harvard in late July to complete his packing; ditches whatever poster he’s taking down to hear that the Bruins are offering him a contract. 

This is it. This is Jimmy’s childhood dream. 

He could play with all of the guys - Chara, Bergeron, Marchand, Rask - all of the guys he admired in high school. There’s really no other way to put it: if nine year old Jimmy were on this phone call, he wouldn’t care what money they were offering. He would play with the B’s one second. 

It doesn’t feel right. 

Jimmy tells his agent that he’s got some more meetings and that he’s not going to take the offer. 

  
  
  


Jimmy meets Brady Skjei when he goes to New York in August, a week before free agency. He recognizes him immediately from the draft: this is the kid wearing that Rangers jersey. 

He’s instantly recognizable, even after three years of college and a year in the AHL (for him) - the fluffed up dark hair, eyes that droop down on the sides, and, _god,_ that smile. 

Jimmy doesn’t even _go here_ and he’s ready to play a game with this kid. 

Brady’s at the meeting along with another soon to be rookie, Pavel Buchnevich (otherwise known as Buch to the rest of the staff). It’s nothing short of interesting - the whole city leaves Jimmy in awe, from the skyscrapers to the office down the road from Madison Square Garden. There’s something about that arena - Madison Square Garden - that just leaves Jimmy thinking. His friends at home would be disappointed: New York - home of the Yankees, the guys that rival the Red Sox. But this means so much more for Jimmy then some stupid rivalry.

After the meeting, Brady comes up to Jimmy a little less formally. 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Brady says, sticking out his hand for Jimmy to shake. Jimmy complies and hopes his hand doesn’t shake. They’re outside, on the main plaza in front of the Garden and the weather is pretty much perfect. 

“Yeah, same to you,” Jimmy replies, lightly tapping his foot on the ground. Brady sticks his hands into his shorts pockets, and Jimmy finds it adorably awkward. Or. Whatever. 

“You had an insane season this year,” Brady says quickly, which prompts an eye roll from Jimmy. “I like to follow college hockey. Followed it this year while I was in Hartford,” Brady explains. Jimmy nods understandably, and he tries not to act so awkward. Brady takes a hand out of his pocket and gestures down the street. 

“Would you want to get coffee with me? I know a place down 33rd,” Brady says awkwardly, and Jimmy smiles easily, which helps Brady release the tension in his shoulders. Jimmy nods. 

“Sounds good, yeah,” Jimmy replies and Brady’s lip curves upward, gestures for Jimmy to follow him. Jimmy does, and Brady makes sure to point out some of the essentials of New York as they make their way. 

Jimmy gets decaf and Brady loads up on caffeine. “What can I say? I’m addicted,” Brady chuckles after taking a sip of his coffee and Jimmy laughs. Jimmy laughs at almost everything Brady says, pretty much. 

They mostly talk about hockey, college, and the NHL in general. When they're done, Jimmy holds out his hand for Brady to shake. Brady smiles. 

“I think we’re a bit past that, yeah?” Brady grabs Jimmy’s hand and goes in for a hug, and Jimmy will happily oblige.

“Maybe we’ll be teammates next year,” Brady is saying as they walk out of the shop, and Jimmy nods. Jimmy’s got an idea now. 

  


  


Brady Skjei is not the main reason why he signs with New York. Only partially. 

New York is, well, _new -_ it’s a big city, exciting city, and an up and coming city where anyone can be themselves. It’s something Jimmy thinks he should value over anything.

He signs his contract, a four-year deal, and shakes the hand she needs to shake and instantly he’s a New York Ranger. He’s excited, more than anything. And a day after Jimmy signs his contract he’s looking for apartments, which is when Brady texts him. 

_I kinda need a roommate for next season, would u be of interest?_

Jimmy has to laugh because Brady’s just dorky, and Jimmy doesn’t think twice. 

_Definitely,_ Jimmy replies, and he hopes it doesn’t sound too desperate. The three dots pop up quickly and Brady’s typing. 

_Sounds good, roomies!_

Jimmy laughs and collapses on his twin bed in just outside of Boston, and he’s never been more excited to go to a city in his life. 

  
  
  
  


Being with Brady is so _easy._ That’s what Jimmy learns when the season starts. 

He’s easy to talk. Jimmy and Brady - there’s something about them (their dynamic) that just makes it easy to have a conversation. Whether it be about hockey, some drama with Jimmy’s younger sister, or even some suit that Jimmy’s debating on buying - Brady’s happy to voice an opinion. But there are days where all Jimmy needs to do is talk, vent, _anything,_ and Brady will happily listen for however long it is until Jimmy gets it out of his system. 

When Brady talks, it’s easy for Jimmy to listen. It’s not long until Jimmy’s captivated, watching his eyes which are a dead giveaway for anything. Jimmy likes Brady’s eyes - how they crinkle up when Brady laughs, how they droop down a tiny bit on the sides when he doesn’t, the color brown they are that Jimmy could recognize from a mile away. 

Jimmy should be concerned with how easy it is to be with Brady. How much he constantly wants to be with Brady. How he wants to be with Brady, and not just physically.

  
  
  
  
The worst thing is when he has to lie to Brady. Not lie - pretend. 

It happens mostly when the team goes out to the bar after games. It’s usually after a win, and their feeling high off of it. Staalsy will get drinks for the whole team and Jimmy will be up against Brady’s side along with the majority of the team squished in the booth. It’s easy for Jimmy to drink, to forget, and it’s hard when Brady asks him to go up to the girls at the bar. 

“Not really up for it, sorry, man,” is what Jimmy is constantly responding with. Brady gets it and it _sucks,_ it sucks that Jimmy has to do this. To him. It makes him feel like absolute shit when he has to pretend in front of his best friend. He loves Brady so fucking much that it hurts, but the fact that Jimmy is so terrified to just be himself in front of him hurts so much more.

  
  
  


Jimmy doesn’t want to die. 

He doesn’t wake up and wishes he didn’t. He doesn’t go to bed hoping he doesn’t wake up. He knows that there’s supposed to be something to live for - something that can tide him over for the constant headaches and crippling anxiety that consumes his own until he can’t breathe. He’s had thoughts, ones that aren’t good, but deep down he knows that death is probably not the way out. 

So he has the decency to think this - not that it really helps. 

The thing is, when he’s with Brady, his whole life follows him like a shadow on a sunny day and all of a sudden he just feels like he’s lying. This time, though, he’s not lying to his flakey friends when they ask him about his love life - he’s lying to Brady himself, someone who makes his heart drop when he’s around, someone that Jimmy can always talk to without feeling different.

  
  
  
  


The season ends too soon. They lose to the Sens in the second round and _god,_ they were so close. So fucking close and they blew it. 

The series was so winnable - and going down 2-0 shouldn’t have ever happened, especially after Brady scores _two goals._ They blew their lead and lost in OT when AV neglected to put Brady on the ice. Jimmy doesn’t like to blame his coach but he’ll blame it when it’s his fucking fault. 

They get back to their apartment after a defeating, _literally_ defeating, 4-2 loss. Brady crashes on the couch and Jimmy just goes to his room, mostly because he doesn’t really feel much like talking. 

This is the National Hockey League, Jimmy supposes. No one ever fucking told him that it could suck this bad. 

Jimmy kicks off his sneakers and strips off his suit before getting into bed and thinking about a lot of things. He thinks about his rookie season, and the series, about his summer. Jimmy thinks it’s going to be a _long_ summer. 

  
  
  
  
When Jimmy gets up the next day it’s close to 1:00 pm, he hears the TV on in the main room, throws on some sweats before walking outside. Brady’s just sitting on the couch with his legs out on the ottoman, turns his head when he hears Jimmy.  
  
“Hey,” Brady croaks, and he sounds tired, like he didn’t get much sleep. Jimmy asks him if he did. 

“Not much at all,” Brady admits, promptly rubbing his eyes and Jimmy makes his way to his section of the couch. He stretches his legs out once he sits down and there’s a silence for a few minutes. Brady drums his fingers on the fabric of the couch. 

“Pizza?” Brady asks suddenly, and Jimmy smiles and it’s weak, but he’s trying. Brady smiles back and it’s warm, and Jimmy’s heart is warm. Brady grabs his phone off the coffee table and dials the number - not to mention that he knows by heart - and holds it up to his ear. 

“Pepperoni and extra cheese?” Brady asks Jimmy, knowing very well the way he likes it. Jimmy’s smiling when he nods. 

Jimmy leans into the couch cushions and watches Brady on the phone. In his head, he knows that this isn’t forever, but what he’s got now is just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> fuck the buffalo sabres


End file.
